By The Pricking Of My Thumbs
by sendintheclowns
Summary: A conflicted Sam leaves for Stanford and along the way he bumps into a supernatural entity from his past and he needs Dean’s help. How will this sudden change of events impact the future? AU, pre-series Belated Birthday fic for Skag Trendy!
1. Chapter 1

Summary: A conflicted Sam leaves for Stanford and along the way he bumps into a supernatural entity from his past and he needs Dean's help. How will this sudden change of events impact the future? (AU, pre-series) Belated Birthday fic for Skag Trendy!

A/N: I'm almost a month late with birthday fic for my good friend, Skag Trendy – I hope you'll forgive my tardiness and accept this late offering! While writing this story I recruited my usual cast to help – Floralia on beta, Faye Dartmouth to help plug plot holes and BlueEyedDemonLiz and Gidgetgal9 with a final read through and last minute advice. I took what all of these talented ladies contributed and then went around and messed with the story so all mistakes are most definitely mine.

By The Pricking Of My Thumbs

_If you go, stay gone._

Sam wished he could scrub the words from his mind but they lingered on, reverberating around and around. Instead he scrubbed at his face with his hands, trying to keep the tears threatening to fall in check.

He was sitting in the Greyhound bus station, watching the clock slowly tick off the time. His whole future was ahead of him – a full ride scholarship at Stanford to be precise – but right now the only thing on his mind was his family.

His father and brother who didn't think he could hack it away from them.

_You're place is here with us, Sam. You're not safe out there. _

His dad never did have any faith in him, but what truly hurt was Dean's attitude. The big brother he worshipped. His hero. The one person Sam thought would always be on his side.

Only Dean wasn't. His brother had let him walk out the door.

Sam's eyes kept drifting to the clock. He'd left Dean a message telling him what time the bus was departing. Maybe his big brother would show up. Wish him luck.

Who was Sam kidding? Dean wouldn't go against their dad. As Dean was Sam's hero, John Winchester was Dean's. Sam had better get used to being on his own.

An overhead page declared his bus was boarding now. A small but diverse bunch of people straggled into line, stowing luggage in the outside compartment before lurching up the steps, disappearing into the large, gray vehicle. Sam held his two bags close to him – one had his clothing and the other his books. And the knife Dean had given him for his birthday. That's all he was taking and he refused to part with his meager belongings. Especially the knife. The Klaww of Death as Dean called it. The curved blade was wicked looking, and sharp as hell.

Casting his eyes around Sam acknowledged to himself that Dean wasn't going to show up at the last minute to see him off. Sighing deeply, Sam mounted the stairs and made his way toward the back of the bus.

Settling heavily into a seat, Sam tried to work up some enthusiasm over the trip. But his mind kept spiraling back to his family. Twisted and unyielding. Both his thoughts and his family.

After the spectacular blow-out with his dad over attending Stanford, Sam had taken John Winchester's words to heart and gotten out. Out of the ratty house they'd been staying in, out of Madison, and, apparently, out of the family.

He couldn't say he was surprised at the outcome of his spilling his big news when it came to his dad, but it was every bit as hard as he'd expected. John Winchester had gone from loud threats to icy calm as he realized Sam wasn't going to budge and he ordered Sam out. Dean had stayed on the sidelines, refusing to meet Sam's eyes as he first dashed to the room they shared to throw some of his things in a bag, and then darted through the living room to hit the front door almost at a full sprint.

His dad's reaction he had predicted; Dean's had been a surprise and an unwelcome one at that.

He'd known Dean didn't want him to leave but his brother's lack of support, lack of response, even lack of eye contact, had left his lungs empty and grasping for air.

His depressing memories were interrupted by the high pitched voice of the elderly lady standing next to him. "I say, you look like a nice young man. Could you please put my bag in the overhead compartment? I have arthritic joints and…"

Tuning out the blue-haired lady's reasons for asking him for help, Sam tried to smile, failed miserably, and instead stood up to take the bag she held out with resignation. She settled herself in the seat across from Sam and continued to chatter as the Greyhound bus wound its way down the Madison beltline.

Wanting to just turn his brain off for a while, Sam managed to stow the huge bag in the overhead compartment. Rehashing things over and over weren't going to change them. His dad had been right about one thing – Sam had made this decision and now he had to live it.

There were only six passengers on the bus bound for Chicago and it was so quiet, Sam could hear the bus driver bite out a soft 'damn it.' That was the only warning Sam had before the bus jolted and slid.

Sam scrambled to hang on to something but he was standing in the aisle, unprotected.

When the bus went airborne, Sam only had a moment to hope his dad and Dean would eventually forgive him, and then everything was up in the air – bus, luggage, passengers – and Sam couldn't think anymore.

Spinning.

Tumbling.

Somersaulting.

Something crashed into the area between Sam's shoulder blades and his vision darkened.

He took a deep breath in anticipation of the pain he knew was coming.

Instead numbness greeted him.

Sam collapsed gratefully into it as the moaning metal and shrieking passengers wailed in his ears.

His consciousness fled before the bus came to an awkward stop on its back, wheels spinning into the gray, rainy sky.

"Here's one!"

Sam jolted into awareness as a loud male voice screeched into his ear. He lifted his hand to push the hair out of his face. At least he tried to. Nothing happened.

"Just relax, son. We'll have you out of here in a jiffy."

Opening his mouth to ask what happened, he abruptly shut it. Maybe a hunt had gone pear-shaped. Maybe Dean and his dad were hurt.

He couldn't keep his mouth shut at the thought and a broken whisper emerged from his lips. "D'n."

The loud voice was back, booming next to his ear. It made his head dizzy. "I need a backboard and c-collar! And we might have to intubate so bring the supplies. Is he the last one?"

Another voice barked in return. "They're still looking for the driver. More help is on the way. Jesus, look at this kid."

Sam heard a moan in response. Was that…was he the one moaning? Dizziness continued to hammer at Sam and the pressure in his head made him feel faint. "Shut it, Frank. He's awake, at least he was a moment ago. Let's just get him out of here and let the docs at the hospital figure it out."

Gentle hands, at odds with the obnoxious voices, touched his face.

Pressure coalesced into sharp pain and it spiked into the top of his head, shooting down his neck, ending in a strange tingling sensation that made Sam want to shiver.

Instead he passed out.

"Easy, young man. I'm a doctor. Can you tell me your name?"

Sam wanted to know if his dad and Dean were okay. He didn't remember what had happened but he knew Dean at least would be by his side if he was hurt. Unless he couldn't. Unless something had happened to him.

"De'n…" he managed to breathe out, desperate to make the doctor understand him.

His eyes struggled to open and he found a dark haired man looming over him. He blinked as his vision wavered, the man's face replaced with a bright light.

Cold, clammy skin, not really a hand, clenched each side of Sam's face, holding his mouth open.

"It is you! The only one who ever got away. This time I will not let you go, mi ëmbël bir."

Sam was moving, completely disoriented and at the mercy of the doctor, _thing_, hovering over him.

Nausea curled in the pit of his stomach as he was dragged off the flat surface and arranged on another. His limbs refused to move and the doctor – swarthy complexion and black hair, not a creature – seemed to realize his predicament. "Just relax, child. I will take good care of you."

He didn't want to give in but his eyes drooped and the buzzing in his ears rose to a crescendo.

_Help me, Dean. Please._

-0-

_If you go, stay gone._

Dean bolted upright on the couch, his breathing loud in his ears. It was just a nightmare. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted from lack of sleep and too much drink, and had a bad dream. The worst kind of dream.

"Hey, Sammy, grab me…"

His words trailed off as his brain completely woke up; Sam was gone. His nightmare had come true.

Dean didn't know who he should be angrier with – his dad for ordering Sam out or Sam for picking this one time to listen to their dad's orders.

His dad totally had a point. If Sam left, then Dean couldn't look out for him, take care of him. And that had always been his primary objective. As much as Dean loved to hunt with his dad, he needed to watch out for Sammy. It was what he did, like eating or breathing.

But when Sam hit fifteen or so, he'd changed. He no longer looked at Dean like he hung the moon and he no longer took their dad's word as gospel. Sam, the kid who would do anything to please, suddenly wanted nothing to do with his family or hunting.

It had been a bitter pill to swallow and Dean had told himself the kid would grow out of it, it was just a phase, and he'd eventually take to hunting like he was supposed to. Sam would be wingman to Dean's gunner.

Instead Sam had applied to Stanford and with his scary smart brain, he'd been awarded a full ride scholarship.

Sitting around feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to fix the problem. He grabbed his cell and saw a message was waiting for him.

_Dean, it's Sam. I'm at the Greyhound station and my bus leaves at six. I know that's early for you, but I thought you might, you know, stop by. I don't want to leave things between us this way. Okay, that's it. If I don't see you, stay safe. I'll try you when I get to California._

The message had barely finished playing before Dean dialed his brother's number. It was going on Noon and he wished he'd left Jack, or Jose, or whatever he'd swallowed down like it was going out of style alone last night, but he'd been angry and lonely and wanted to blow off steam. Sam had banged out of the house and his dad had followed suit a short time later, leaving Dean to hold down the fort. Again.

_We're sorry, the number you have dialed is currently out of order._

Dean consoled himself with the knowledge Sam knew his number and would try again. The brothers talked to each other every day, without fail.

Even though he'd missed Sam's call, missed seeing him off, Sam had to know Dean wanted to hear from him, know he was okay.

Although when Sam had left, hustling out of the house like there was a fire, Dean had kept his face averted. He wanted to punch his brother. He wanted to throw his arms around him and make him stay. He couldn't make himself do either and that made him want to cry.

He'd be damned if he let Sam see his tears. The little shit wanted to go to college, let him see what it felt like to be on his own. Only Dean was the one missing the kid and Sam was probably having a great time.

Dean snatched up the remote from the coffee table and clicked the TV on. "…I'm currently standing next to the place where a Greyhound bus, bound first for Chicago and then Palm Springs, lost control on the slick surface and careened over this ravine. All but one of the passengers has been accounted for and rescue crews continue their grim search. The survivors are being transported to UW Hospital. Back to you, Mark."

"Thank you for that report, Susan. Now let's check in with Hattie and find out if this rain, which appears to have been a factor in the bus rollover, is going to let up."

Dean stared from the tall, blond reporter, her neck stretching out of her trench coat like a giraffe, to the short blond haired anchor whose eyes seemed to jut out in opposite directions. They both looked like a couple of aliens.

And then it hit Dean like a sledgehammer between the eyes. Sam was taking a Greyhound bus out west. He could have been on this bus. Maybe his cell phone had been smashed to smithereens.

Dean splashed water on his face before yanking on his jacket and grabbing his keys – he needed to get to UW Hospital and see if Sam was there. He had a bad feeling about this.

-0-

_Dean!_

Sam woke up in a panic, his brother's name on his lips.

His head hurt and his hands and feet were numb. So was his backside.

He sat up and his hands cradled his aching head.

At least that's what happened in Sam's mind.

His body had other ideas. It refused to move.

"Relax young man, you've been injured in an accident. I'm going to make you feel better."

Sam struggled to lift his eyes and they at least obeyed him. A dark haired man peered down at him. His expression was kind. And then a bright light consumed the man and Sam closed his eyes, flinching.

Pressure on his jaw became the paramount pain, replacing the throb at the back of his head.

And then Sam slowly slid toward the light.

-0-

_Sam!_

Dean's inner voice was screaming for his brother. He knew deep down something bad had happened to the kid.

The ride seemed to take forever but Dean finally pulled into the parking lot. He'd been trying to figure out the best angle to get information and finally decided on that of distraught family member. That's pretty much what he'd been reduced to, standing around and wringing his hands. If Sam hadn't been on the bus then Dean was going to kill him for putting him through this stress; if Sam had been on the bus then Dean was going to kill him for putting himself in danger like that.

Sam was pretty much screwed either way but Dean knew the first thing he'd do was hug the stuffing out of the kid when he saw him. The yelling and retribution would come later.

He practically pushed a guy about his age out of the way in his rush to get to the admissions clerk but he didn't break stride. "Excuse me, I'm looking for my brother and I have reason to believe he was on the Greyhound bus that crashed."

The girl at the desk looked to be about Sammy's age and Dean would have felt bad for stressing her out if he wasn't already so stressed himself. She pretty much cringed at his question but then seemed to pull herself together. "And what's your brother's name?"

Without batting an eyelash, Dean barked out the information. "Sam Winchester, he's 18 years of age, date of birth is May 2, 1983."

The girl consulted a list and then raised her face to Dean regretfully. "I'm sorry, he's not on the list. But let me call Dr. Simms' secretary, Mandy. She might be able to help you."

After a terse conversation on the phone, the clerk gave him directions to the third floor where Mandy would meet him. The elevator was taking too long so Dean dashed up the stairwell. A part of him wanted Sam to be here so Dean could take care of him but he also hoped Sam was already headed out west, safe and sound.

Bursting out onto the floor, Dean blinked against the bright fluorescent lighting. "Excuse me, are you here for information regarding the Greyhound accident?"

The woman was a couple of inches shorter than Dean and had a statuesque figure which complimented her auburn hair and killer green eyes. She was the kind of woman Dean would normally have tried to get to know better but right now he had one thing on his brain...find Sammy.

Dean shook hands with the woman, his smile at half its wattage. "I'm Dean Winchester. My brother Sam might have been on that bus. I keep trying his cell but I get a message saying the phone is out of order. I know he was heading west so I'm afraid..."

The woman flipped her long hair over her shoulder in a practiced move and gave Dean an admiring look. "I'm Mandy by the way. Have you contacted the Greyhound Bus Terminal?" At Dean's head shake to the negative, she continued on, "Okay, then can you give me a description of your brother?"

Hands shaking at the thought Sam was injured so badly he couldn't tell anyone his name, Dean tucked them into his jacket pockets. "Let's see, he's about this tall," Dean pulled his hand quickly back out and held it a couple of inches above his own height, "and he likes to wear lots of layers so he'll look more muscular than he really is."

The fingers of that hand rifled through his own hair as he continued his description, "He's got brown floppy hair, it's always in his eyes. Oh, and his eyes...the color depends on what he's wearing. Sometimes they look brown, sometimes blue-green. I guess you'd call them hazel. And they're really big...he does the best puppy dog face ever..."

Mandy was looking at him like he was a candidate for the psych ward so he stopped with his description. The kid hadn't even been gone a day and Dean realized he missed him like he'd miss an amputated limb.

The auburn-haired beauty guided him to a chair next to the elevator. "Please have a seat, I'm going to call down to ER and see what I can find out for you."

Dean nervously bounced his foot on his knee, watching the second-hand crawl around the clock on the wall across from him. After five minutes, the elevator dinged and Dean jumped to his feet, hoping the person arriving on the floor could take him to Sam.

A nervous looking man, hair silvering at the temples, moved past Dean and headed down a hallway without making eye contact.

Letting out a huff of air, Dean headed toward Mandy's office. She at least was a pretty distraction. As he approached her door, he heard her say, "What do you mean they lost him? It's not like he could just get up in his condition and run away…no, the brother is up on this floor…and the police are interviewing the paramedics in the ER now? Uh huh, I'll see what I can do..."

When Dean had heard the words 'lost him,' he'd thought Sam had died. His heart beat painfully in his chest and he became lightheaded. But the rest of the conversation penetrated and he realized someone, most likely Sammy, was missing.

Missing, not dead.

He tore for the staircase and headed for the ground floor where he remembered seeing signs for the ER. When he skidded out of the stairwell door, he took a moment to get his bearings.

He spotted the sign for the ER at the same time two men in light blue uniforms, accompanied by a cop in dark blue, headed Dean's way. He started preparing a cover story by rote in his head and then realized they weren't headed toward him at all, they were just walking by.

The sandy-haired cop with the thin mustache was talking. "If you think of anything, anything at all, you call us. Since it's not likely he wandered off on his own, we need to find him before something worse than a bus accident happens to him."

Startled at the words, Dean missed the response from the other two guys. He knew in his heart his kid brother was hurt and missing.

His vision blurred. Dean needed to focus. He couldn't help Sam if he panicked.

Following the two men, one tall and thin with blond hair and the other shorter, rounder and balding, Dean realized they were paramedics. He'd seen the uniform before. On Candy, a part time paramedic. Although she filled out the shirt much better than these two yahoos.

He lengthened his stride until he was right behind the two men. "Excuse me, I'm Detective Schenker, are you the two paramedics who responded to the bus accident?"

The two men halted in their tracks and turned, shoulders drooping with fatigue. Baldy replied, "We already told everything we know to Lutz just now. Can't you talk to him?"

Forging ahead, Dean threw the tired men a cocky grin. "I'm sorry, this will only take a moment and it may save a life."

The tall guy grimaced but nodded his head in agreement. Paramedics…saving lives…Dean knew which buttons to push. Baldy sighed but started to spill what he knew. "We were the last paramedics to respond and there were just two victims, according to survivor reports, unaccounted for. We went into the bus and found the kid – tall, thin and suffering from a head injury and probable fractured neck so we put him in a c-collar, secured him to the backboard and moved him to the gurney."

Tall guy found his voice which proved a timely distraction. Dean was having trouble wrapping his head around the head injury and probable fractured neck. "They found the driver, he'd been thrown clear of the vehicle, and they called us over. I didn't want to leave the kid, I wanted to get the IV going, but the driver was in a bad way. One minute. I was only gone one freaking minute. When I returned, the kid was gone. And he was totally messed up from the accident, there's no way he left under his own power."

Both men, eyes bloodshot, stared at Dean. He realized they were waiting for his next question.

_Totally messed up from the accident. Head injury. Probable fractured neck._

Dean needed to pull himself together. Think. Sam was depending on him. "Were there any suspicious people hanging around the scene?"

Baldy found that question funny and snorted. "There were the usual looky-loos around but they didn't get too close, there was still a question as to whether the bus would catch fire. There was that one doctor who showed up. What's his name, Frank? You know, the one all of the chicks dig?"

Tall guy wrinkled his nose. "Johnson? He's a jerk. Don't know why the chicks dig him. Oh, and Hydeker showed up, too. He's cool."

The walkie talkie on Baldy's belt squawked. "Sorry, we've got a call."

Dean let the two men go.

He needed to find Johnson and Hydeker and maybe some of the other survivors. Someone had to know something about Sammy.

-0-

Sam's nose curled in disgust. He could smell the thing – a mix between dead leaves and fresh blood – and he was pissed off that he couldn't move. No matter how much he tried, his limbs wouldn't work. Not even a twitch. The pain in his head was the only thing that convinced him he was still alive. Surely if he were dead he wouldn't feel this bad.

"Hello, young man. Still not able to move yet?" The thing's voice was low and raspy and it actually made a tut-tut noise, baiting Sam. "I have waited a long time and I am delighted you have decided to stay a while."

The thing didn't use contractions and Sam found that creepy. Almost as creepy as waking up in the dark, unable to move. Sam's mind was a blank. He couldn't remember what had happened and that was driving him crazy, almost as much as the pervasive numbness below his neck.

Sam tried to take inventory of the thing but he only had a sense of something tall and shrouded. He couldn't get a clear look at the face but for some reason this thing reminded him of a witch, the kind The Brothers Grimm would have written about. The left sleeve lifted and a clawed appendage came into view.

Something clammy touched his face and Sam tried to rear back but his body failed him. "Stop, you will only tire yourself if you keep on." Something locked on to his face, squeezing his mouth open, holding his head in place. "Your father and brother left you unprotected once and I almost had you then. You were such a sweet morsel, ripe for the taking. I cannot believe my good fortune in finding you again. And you are still as tasty as you were before. Yet more powerful."

The pressure increased on his face, pulling Sam's thoughts away from what the witch-thing was saying. He'd almost fallen victim to this thing before? He didn't remember it and didn't think he believed the thing. His dad and brother would have told him if something like that had happened.

Steady pressure ceded to pain and when light flared in his eyes, Sam quit his bid to remain conscious.

-0-

Dean's nose curled up in disapproval as he thought of the way Johnson put the moves on some nurse. All pearly white teeth and bleach blond hair. No subtlety. Dean had expected more from the doctor. He had to agree with the paramedics – Johnson was a jerk.

Hydeker was proving to be more elusive. Dean stopped at the nurse's station and asked the exhausted looking blond on duty if she knew Hydeker's whereabouts. Tiredly flipping her long braid over a shoulder she frowned. "He's at the Children's Hospital trying to help those poor children."

_Poor children. _Huh, this was the first Dean had heard anything about children. "I'm here to do a story on the doctor and how he's trying to help. Could you tell me what you're impressions are of the situation?"

Dean had no idea what he was talking about but the blond looked the sympathetic type, like she wanted to do good. With the right motivation she'd spill her guts to Dean. Apparently implying that he was doing a story was enough motivation. "It appears to be a virus that runs through all of the children in a family, leaving the adults alone. It's scary stuff. But Dr. Hydeker is the premiere pediatrician in the area and he's been working with the infection control specialists."

The phone rang interrupting their conversation and Dean thanked the nurse before heading for the exit. His mind was churning over the nurse's words. _A virus that runs through all of the children in a family, leaving the adults alone. _That phrase tickled his memory.

The shtriga.

According to his dad's research, a shtriga was as an Albanian witch, the type that liked to drain the _spiritus vitae_, or life essence, mainly from children. The act of feeding left the children with a weakened immune system so that they were vulnerable to illnesses like pneumonia. An interesting note – shtrigas liked to work their way through the siblings in a family.

_A virus that runs through all of the children in a family, leaving the adults alone._

How did Dean know so much about shtrigas? He'd met one once. The one time Dean hadn't taken his duties seriously and Sam had almost forked his life over to the supernatural life sucker.

Fort Douglas. Dean would never forget that shitty motel or the arcade next door or the way Sammy had looked, light glowing softly as some _thing_ tried to suck the life out of him. Fortunately their dad had returned early from his hunt, scaring off the creature. Scaring, but not killing. And it had pulled up stakes and disappeared.

What if a shtriga was in the area? The very same shtriga which had almost sucked Sammy dry all those years ago? John Winchester had never looked at Dean the same way again after that incident. He no longer felt like the trusted son. It was Dean's fault the bitch had gotten away. And since it only fed every fifteen to twenty years, he'd never had the chance to redeem himself.

First things first. He needed to find Sam. Then he'd follow up on the shtriga lead.

He thought about going to Children's Hospital and interviewing Dr. Hydeker. It was already early evening and there was a chance the good doctor was already at home. Dean had found the doctor's address in the phone book when he'd been doing background on both the doctors the paramedics had mentioned. He aimed the Impala toward the ritzy side of town, intent on finding Hydeker's house. He didn't expect to find anything on this paragon of virtue but he knew enough to chase down all leads. He couldn't take shortcuts and hope to find his brother.

Dean whistled as he passed the address, electing to move a couple of houses down before parking. He pulled in behind a powder blue convertible mustang and hoped the Chevy would blend in. Although power blue? Why do that to such a fine looking vehicle.

Reaching into the bag on the floor of the passenger seat, Dean loaded his spare colt with consecrated rounds. He had the shtriga on his mind now and like any good boy scout, he wanted to be prepared.

Okay, so Dean had never been a boy scout but knowing the motto had to count for something.

Walking down the sidewalk like he belonged, Dean walked past Hydeker's house and then darted between houses on his way to the back door. Glancing in the windows as he roamed, the lights were off and he didn't see movement. Studying the brick exterior, Dean also didn't see any sign of an alarm system. Weird but not unheard of. It's not like it would have kept Dean out anyway but he liked to keep his skills sharp and enjoyed a good challenge.

Instead he picked the backdoor lock and found himself inside a spacious kitchen with nothing out of place. Not even a dirty coffee cup in the sink. This guy put Felix Unger to shame.

Dean made short work of the floor. The oversize living room, the four bedrooms, the stereo system Dean would give his eye teeth for. This guy had serious money. But nothing seemed out of place.

"No…"

It sounded like someone was moaning. And it was coming from downstairs.

Hoping he wasn't about to break in on some freaky sexcapades, Dean opened the basement door and stalked softly down the dark stairs.

A bright light glowed to his right and Dean squinted his eyes to get a good look at the cause.

A dark shrouded _thing_ was holding something. Someone. A body, hands clamped to the face forcing the mouth wide open. And the light…it poured from the body into the thing.

Thing.

Shtriga.

That's what Dean was seeing. A shtriga at work. The only time the damn things could be killed.

Withdrawing the gun with the consecrated rounds, Dean held it just like his dad had trained him to and he squeezed off round after round.

What were the chances that Dean would finally come face to face with the creature from long ago now, while he was looking for Sammy? Not very high but Dean had always been lucky when it came to the hunt.

The glowing light abruptly cut off and there was a crash. The basement was plunged into complete darkness and Dean fumbled for his maglight. The small light bobbed along the wall until Dean found a lightswitch. He practically screamed with relief when the basement was once again bathed in light, this time from the fluorescent units hanging from the ceiling.

The shtriga was lying on its back, face hidden in the folds of cloth swaddling its head. Dean pumped more rounds into its face and watched in satisfaction as the thing began to steam and hiss and then disappeared from sight.

Up until now, Dean had been so involved with finishing the hunt that he hadn't focused on the victim at all. He rushed across the basement and saw a lanky body with brown hair lying face down on the carpet.

Could it be?

He flipped the body over and instantly tears filled his eyes.

It was Sammy. Pale and bruised but breathing.

He tugged his brother into his arms, cradling the back of his head with one hand and his upper back with the other.

Sam didn't try to pull away or do anything. He just hung limply in Dean's arms. But Dean could feel the steady in and out of his brother's chest moving air.

It had been close, but Dean had found Sam. He'd get his brother's injuries seen to and then they could be a family again. Just like before.

-0-

Sam hurt all over and was reluctant to open his eyes. The last thing he remembered was the witch-thing leaning over him, grasping his jaw.

Lots of light.

Weakness.

Inability to move.

Something was beeping in his ear. It sounded like…a monitor. Like in the hospital. His eyes sprang open and he found a white ceiling overhead.

No witch.

No pain.

His racing heart began to slow and the monitor did likewise.

A hand rested on his cheek and Sam wanted to flinch away but he couldn't make his body listen. "Easy, Sam. I'm not going to leave your side. Just rest. I'll watch out for you."

Dean's voice. Dean was here. Dean would take care of him.

But Sam was in the hospital and hospitals had doctors and a doctor had been the witch or maybe the witch had been a doctor.

It was too confusing and Sam let himself drift.

The important thing was that Dean was with him.

-0-

Dean was sore from sitting in the god-awful chair. But he'd promised Sam he would stay at his side and he meant it.

The ICU was equipped with a toilet so at least Dean was covered there. He just needed to make sure the curtains were pulled otherwise some poor nurse was going to get an eyeful.

He almost chuckled at the thought but Sam's condition kept his humor in check. The kid still had a long way to go.

The paramedics had been right – a concussion and fractured neck. And his spine was fucked up.

Sam was showing all of the hallmarks of a concussion between his confusion and inability to focus. Although he really wasn't awake very often. That was a good thing because when he slept, he didn't move around much which was good for his neck and spine. The neck that had sustained a compression fracture and the poor kid's spine was swollen. The doctors likened it to a stinger in football, only a long lasting one. At least it looked like Sam wouldn't need surgery to correct it. Steroids were reducing the swelling and Dean was thankful for that. The paralysis had scared the crap out of Dean but apparently was only temporary.

Dean still had a hard time believing Sam would be okay. When Sam was awake, he talked about lights and numb arms and legs; the light had been taken care of courtesy of the consecrated rounds and the numbness was supposed to subside. At least that's what the doctor said and Dean was putting all of his faith in him – not because he trusted the guy so much but because he didn't have any other choice. Sam had to get better.

No one talked about Hydeker or why he'd kidnapped Sam, Dean especially. He'd taken care of the supernatural monster and gotten his brother back. The only thing missing was their dad and Dean had left him a couple of messages. As soon as his dad got them, Dean knew he'd head back.

Nothing was more important than Sammy.

-0-

Being confined to the bed was getting on Sam's nerves. It's not that he had much energy to move around but if he did, it would have been nice to do so without Dean coming down on him like a ton of bricks.

He had to hand it to his brother, he'd been glued to Sam's side since he'd woken up groggy and hurting in the ICU and Sam wasn't sure he could ever pay Dean back for taking care of him like that.

Or dusting the shtriga, as Dean called it, freeing Sam in the process.

That's why Sam couldn't believe it when Dean started hassling him. "You never should have gotten on that bus, Sammy."

Sam flinched as if struck. He tried to modulate his voice, keep it on an even keel, but he was incredibly hurt. "What did you just say?"

His brother straightened the sheet that didn't need straightening, flattening it beneath his hand. Dean wouldn't look him in the eye, instead scowling down at the sheet. "You heard me. You wouldn't be in this mess if you'd stayed with your family. This is exactly what Dad was trying to tell you but you wouldn't listen…"

Closing his eyes, Sam attempted to tune Dean out. So getting in a bus accident and then kidnapped by a shtriga was his fault and if he'd just stayed put, like a trained dog, Sam never would have been hurt or needed saving.

Although according to the shtriga – not that Sam was necessarily buying its line of bull – Sam had almost been drained as a young boy; he'd been left alone and the shtriga had found the set up too tempting. If their dad, who let's face it shouldn't have left two young boys alone in the first place, hadn't charged in at that exact moment then Sam would have been shtriga food, sucked dry and left to die.

But his dad and Dean always knew what was good for Sam. Right.

His dad who loved him so much that he was somewhere in Minnesota, doing something so important that he couldn't even bother returning Dean's calls. Sam knew he should have been hurt by his dad's actions but after a lifetime of being around the man, it really didn't surprise him. But for some reason it did surprise Dean. He couldn't hurt on his own account but he did on his brother's. Or at least he had until Dean started giving him shit, acting as their dad's mouthpiece.

Thinking about his family left Sam feeling flattened, like the worn cotton sheet under Dean's smothering hand.

He only wanted to go to school. Four years, that's all he'd asked for. What kind of family tells a kid just out of high school that going to college is a waste of time?

Sam was naive for having thought his family would believe in him. To them he was just a big failure, too dumb to look after himself. Too slow and stupid to make it in the hunt without them to watch his ass. Incapable of taking care of himself away from them, out in what passed for the normal world. Always in need of protection.

Numbness spread through Sam's chest and for once it had nothing to do with his spinal injury or the shtriga's attack.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

By The Pricking Of My Thumbs

Dean had to admit it was nice getting out of the hospital room; it was hard being cooped up like that.

Sam dozed in the heat of the car and Dean couldn't help but think his little brother had been released too soon. The kid could barely cross the length of his hospital room with the aid of the walker and now the doctors were turning him loose on the outside world? Dean vowed to himself that he would be extra vigilant in caring for Sam, and would do everything in his power to keep him from experiencing a relapse or hurting himself in a rush to do things on his own.

Wheeling the Impala into the driveway of the small rented house, Dean realized they'd have to find somewhere else to live in a couple of weeks – their dad had only paid up through the end of the month.

Dad. Somewhere in Minnesota doing God knows what, but whatever it was, it had to involve saving a huge number of lives. There's no way their dad would flake out on them when Sam, and Dean, needed him most.

Finding somewhere else to stay was easier to contemplate than his dad's absence, but nothing took priority over Sam. Right now he was concentrating on the little brother he'd almost lost – first to college and then to the shtriga.

Placing his hand on Sam's shoulder, he squeezed gently. "Sammy, we're home."

His brother's eyes popped open and he straightened from where he'd been leaning against the car's passenger window. "We're here already?"

Sam's voice was groggy and his eyes bleary. After a moment they focused, alert, roaming from the weed infested lawn to the cracked and peeling siding to the ramshackle porch whose floor was tilting precariously. Disappointment at his surroundings colored a gentle sigh as Sam frowned before opening the heavy car door.

His little brother hated this place but at least it was a roof over their heads. Focusing on the positive, Dean made it to the passenger door before Sam had managed to finish turning in the seat and sliding his legs out into the warm summer air. Between his injuries and the shtriga, Sam was barely functioning and couldn't make it without lots of help, help that Dean planned on providing.

Offering his hands, Dean tugged Sam off the passenger seat to an awkward standing position. He quickly slid an arm behind Sam's waist and latched on to the belt-loop of the jeans that were threatening to slide off dangerously thin hips at any moment. Sam threw an arm around Dean's neck, his weight naturally curling into Dean's side.

As worried as Dean was about Sam's condition, he couldn't prevent the frisson of contentment from snaking down his spine; his little brother was relying on Dean to take care of him and that was the role Dean relished most – big brother. And Sam needed to be by his side, it was the only way Dean could protect him. The bus accident and Sam's kidnapping had definitely driven home that point. He knew Sam didn't want to hear it but the facts were the facts.

They slowly made their way down the sidewalk and then up the rickety porch stairs, more of Sam's weight leaning against Dean with each step.

Dean knew his brother was still out of it because he wasn't asking for his walker – the walker they couldn't afford. Hopefully the bus company's insurance would pick up most of the tab on Sam's hospital stay but it hadn't come through yet. That meant cutting corners where possible. Sam's medications were a must so the walker had been left behind. Sam was going to have to let Dean help him get around. It wasn't ideal, especially not for his self sufficient brother, but they'd have to make it work.

By the time they got inside and down the hallway to the bedroom they shared, Sam was visibly drooping, head hanging low on his neck, legs tangling with one another as he stumbled forward. Dean made sure Sam's descent was slow as he lowered him to the soft surface of the single bed, careful to minimize jostling. Despite his best efforts, Sam still grimaced and Dean winced in sympathy.

Sam gazed up at Dean, eyes huge and exhausted. It was difficult but Dean reined in the impulse to reach out and tousle Sam's already messy bangs. "I think it's time for your meds. Why don't you kick back and relax? I'll get your stuff from the car."

His brother caught his shirt sleeve as he walked past. "I'd really like a shower. I feel gross. If you grab my walker I think I can manage."

Not even out of the hospital an hour and Sam was already over doing things. "I don't think that's such a hot idea, Sammy. I was thinking more along the lines of taking your meds and a nap. I'll help you with a shower tomorrow."

Dean high tailed it out of the room before Sam could voice his protests. A quick trip to the car netted the bag with the meds. Dean stopped in the kitchen to dig up a glass and fill it with water before opening the bottles and spilling one from each into his hand – a muscle relaxant and pain pill. He stowed the bottles in the cupboard before picking up the water and heading back to his brother.

Sam was sitting in the same position as when Dean had left, legs hanging over the side of the bed, back hunched uncomfortably, clutching a prize in his hand – his new cell phone. Dean had left the replacement for the cell phone wrecked in the bus accident on the nightstand as a surprise. He thought his brother would ooh and ah over it and then leave it alone until later, when he was feeling better. Much later. But his brother's head was down, punching in numbers.

From his vantage point across the room, Dean could see the stoop in Sam's shoulders and the effort it took for him to keep his head from bobbing on his neck. Sam was coming down off the adrenaline high of leaving the hospital, crashing hard, but he couldn't or wouldn't recognize it.

If Sam didn't slow down, he was going to run himself right into the ground, undo all of his progress. It was Dean's job to take care of his brother, had been for almost eighteen years, and he'd see to it that the kid got his rest. By hook or by crook.

Dean darted forward and set the glass and pills down before Sam even looked up. He nabbed the cell phone right out of Sam's hand, turning it off and pocketing it. "You look exhausted, kiddo. How about you make your call later."

It came out more as an order than a question. And orders and Sam didn't coexist peacefully. Tough. This was one argument Dean was going to win; Sam's health was at stake.

Lips were set in a mutinous line as Sam turned a challenging face toward Dean, nostrils flaring. "There's one call that can't wait. It'll just take a minute."

Sam put his hand out for the cell phone but Dean ignored him, instead picking up the glass of water and pills. "You heard what the doctor said. You need to take it easy, listen to your body, or you won't get any better. Just take your pills and get some rest, okay?"

Stunned was a good description for the look on his brother's face – eyes wide and mouth open in disbelief.

Dean took advantage of the open mouth, popping the pills in.

Sam didn't protest as Dean firmly held the glass to his brother's lips and tilted it so that the water flowed freely. It took a moment but in the end Sam swallowed down the pills and water. Intermittent coughing resulted.

Dean felt a moment of remorse at having imposed his will on to Sam – no one valued being in control quite like his brother – but the kid had to take it easy. Didn't he realize that he had almost died? That Dean had almost lost him?

When the coughing didn't let up, Dean set the glass down and sunk onto the mattress next to his brother. It was common for kids attacked by the shtriga to fall sick with pneumonia and Sam had managed to escape that, dehydration and his other injuries forcing the need for medical attention. Dean just hoped the water hadn't gone down the wrong pipe, giving Sam a new set of problems.

Curling an arm behind Sam's back, Dean tried to support his brother as he gasped and wheezed but his brother wasn't having any of it, instead drawing as far away as he could without physically standing up and moving. But as the coughs tapered down, Sam's head hung low between his shoulders and he allowed Dean to touch him.

At last the lingering tickle dissipated and Dean was left with a thoroughly exhausted and medicated Sam resting his head on Dean's shoulder, hands resting limply in his own lap. "Come on, Sammy, let's get you stretched out and comfortable."

Sam rested his face in the crook of Dean's neck; the sensation of moisture on his skin alerted him to his brother's distress. Easing Sam off his shoulder so he could look at his face, Dean saw tears staining pale cheeks. "Hey, Sam, what is it? Do you hurt?"

Huge hazel eyes blinked slowly at Dean, vulnerable in their blankness. No other response was forthcoming. Sam allowed himself to be pulled back into Dean's arms without a sound.

Warning bells were going off in Dean's head. No matter how sick or injured or even pissed off Sam had been in the past, he was always active. Trying to do too much, too quickly. Mr. Independence.

This incarnation of his little brother draped passively against Dean, completely without fight, was freaking him out.

As Dean bent his head to nestle against Sam's in a gesture of comfort, he heard his brother whisper, "I give up. You win."

Dean didn't take his baby brother's words seriously. Sam always bounced back and he always forgave Dean. His heart was too big to do anything else.

-0-

Sam woke up to find Dean's hand on his shoulder, face hovering above his. "Come on, Sam, time to wake up. You need to take your pills."

He allowed himself to be manhandled into a sitting position, Dean's arm braced along his back to keep him upright.

Physically Sam wasn't in discomfort and he didn't need the pills, at least at the moment. But mustering the energy to explain it to Dean wasn't worth it and anyway, the pills took the edge off of everything.

Softened things. Made them more bearable.

Two pills were placed in his hand and Sam let his hand be guided to his mouth, dutifully placing one blue pill and one white pill into his dry mouth. Next his hand was curled around a glass and he gratefully lifted it and slugged down water.

Still propped against Dean's arm, Sam blinked his eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them. There was something he was going to do today but he couldn't remember what.

Dean's voice, gentle with concern, was right there to remind. "You said you wanted to take a shower. How about it? I'll help you in there and stay just outside the door in case you need something. I know you like your privacy but I don't want to go too far in case…"

His brother kept talking, his pitch rising and falling in rhythm. Cadence. That's the word Sam was looking for. Even without listening to the words, Sam would be able to identify Dean's voice just by his cadence.

His musings were brought up short when Dean smoothed the hair away from his face. Sam hated when his dad or brother did that; it was some sort of Winchester shorthand for Sam needing a haircut. Although maybe it was time Sam got his haircut. Maybe something like Dean's. Less time in the shower, less shampoo and it would dry more quickly.

"Sam, are you listening to me? Do you want to take a shower or not?" Impatience tinged his brother's question.

Normally Sam would have loved a shower – the need to be clean was a deep one. He hated feeling dirty. But the act of getting up, moving around, was beyond him right now. Maybe he'd just close his eyes. Just for a little while.

And Dean would be happy. Dean wanted him to rest. "I'm really tired. Do you mind if I take a nap?"

Dean frowned heavily, the grooves around his mouth and the furrows in his forehead deep. "But you just woke up! Don't you at least want something to eat?"

The last time Dean had forced the pills on Sam, telling him he needed to rest. Apparently Sam had given the wrong answer this time. But how was he supposed to know what to say, or do? He was all out of sync. With his brother. With the universe.

Tears collected in his eyes and he closed them, willing them to stop. They leaked out anyway, dampening his cheeks. Even his body wouldn't listen to him.

His brother lowered him to his back, hand sliding through his hair again. "Sure, Sam. Take a nap. Whatever you want. It's okay. You can shower later. I'll be here when you wake up."

_Whatever you want. _

As long as Sam could figure out what Dean wanted him to want, which he'd always sucked at, it would be okay.

-0-

Dean hovered above his brother. Now that Sam was asleep, Dean couldn't wait for him to wake up again. Instead Dean settled for pulling the comforter up higher on Sam's chest and stared at his sibling. Sam's face was pale and damp with tears but his breathing was slow and even.

What a cluster.

Sam had wanted a shower last night, pouting mightily when Dean wouldn't help him. This morning his brother had taken the pills without a fight, declined the shower, and promptly fallen back to sleep.

Dean was tempted to call the hospital and talk to Sam's doctor; something wasn't right. Sure, he knew Sam would need lots of rest – hell, Dean had thought he might have to tie the damn kid down to make him take it easy – but this…this wanting to sleep all of the time was beyond what Dean had expected. Hadn't Sam slept enough in the hospital?

And then there were the tears. Sam never cried. At least not in front of anyone and on those few occasions that he had, it had been when he was young. His feelings had been easily bruised back then but he'd grown out of it. Thank God. Neither he nor his dad were into outward displays of emotion, except maybe anger, and neither one knew what to say. Maybe Sam was in pain and didn't want to admit it. It's a good thing Dean was keeping track of when to dole out the medications. He couldn't stand to see his little brother in pain.

The weight of caring for his brother settled across Dean's shoulders like his leather jacket. Taking a deep breath, he straightened those shoulders. With his dad away on business, Dean would just have to step it up a notch. He absolutely hated seeing Sam in this state – weak and hurting – but it kind of seemed like fate, Sam not making it out of Wisconsin.

Dean drifted out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen. Sam might not be hungry, but Dean sure as hell was. And after a while he'd wake Sam up and make him eat something. The kid had lost a lot of weight but no more, not on Dean's watch.

-0-

One week out of the hospital and every day had a sameness to it that Sam found comforting.

Dean pushed his pills on him, nagged him into showering, cajoled him into eating. When Sam gave in to these things, it seemed to make his brother happy.

Sam wasn't even sure he needed the pills anymore but they kept him loose and relaxed and he slept a lot which was nice. Always before he was borderline insomniac, unless the Impala was lulling him to sleep, and now he realized what he'd been missing out on it. What possibly ever teen everywhere else knew – that huge quantities of sleep were the absolute best thing ever.

Sam could have done without showering so much – the effort it took to move to the bathroom left him exhausted – but he'd shortened his routine so that he now was in and out in a minute or two. And really, it didn't matter if he was clean or not. He didn't go anywhere and just laying around didn't make him sweat.

Once the shower was out of the way, Dean fixed Sam breakfast. Pancakes, omelets, even Lucky Charms. Whatever he wanted. Sam tried, he really did, but everything he put in his mouth tasted the same. The sharp metallic tang of blood. Or sometimes decaying leaves. Not conducive to eating. But if he didn't at least force some food down, Dean looked apoplectic with worry.

The rest of the day was spent in leisure and Sam had free rein to do as he liked. Watch whatever he wanted on TV. Read books unimpeded and Dean had even offered to go the library and pick some up. Surf the internet at will. And sleep whenever the mood took him. And it took him a lot.

Of course sometimes Sam had to aid the sleep, and that required helping himself to the pills. He knew exactly where Dean kept them in the cupboard and when his brother stepped outside, or into the shower, Sam would spill some out of the bottles and hide them. Just to have on hand. It was nice to know they were there if he needed them, and he didn't have to bother his brother for them either. Dean worried too much about him as it was.

Lately when his brother looked at him Sam thought he detected sadness in Dean's eyes. Lurking just behind the strain of taking care of Sam. Like he was right now after Dean had asked him if he wanted to go get a bite to eat and he'd declined.

Crossing his arms and then uncrossing them, Dean stared balefully at him and Sam knew he'd given the wrong answer. Sighing, Sam tried to reason out what Dean wanted him to do but he'd had his extra quota of pills not long ago and his head felt thick. "You don't have to stay here with me, Dean. Why don't you see if one of your girlfriends is available for lunch?"

Glowering now, Dean pursed his lips. "No, Sam, that's not…Sammy, you need to move around, get stronger. I'm worried about you."

Mirroring Dean's movements, Sam pursed his lips. He tried to follow Dean's logic. Going to a restaurant did mean moving around but after that, he was lost. Did Dean want him to get out, mingle with more people? Always before that was frowned upon. Sam was only supposed to talk to his family. Strangers couldn't be trusted and friends only tied you down.

Worse yet, his brother had Sammy'd him. Dean only did that when he was trying to put Sam in his place, remind him that he was the little brother. But what had he done wrong?

Sam was content to stay in the house but that's not what Dean wanted. "Sure, Dean, we can go out if you want to."

Instead of smiling, Dean frowned again. Shit. Sam's head was too fuzzy and he couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do.

-0-

Every day was the same with no improvement on his brother's part. If anything, the kid was worse off now than when Dean had brought him home.

Dean didn't know what to do. Sam, his genius little brother, gaped at him blankly whenever Dean asked him a question. This was a kid who had gotten into Stanford on a full ride scholarship? Shit, Sam didn't remember how to tie his shoelaces some days, not that he ever wore shoes now, content to shuffle through the house barefoot. He seemed happy to do nothing all day, every day. That wasn't his Sammy and he wondered if the hospital had fucked up. Maybe Sam had a more serious brain injury that they'd missed.

Dean was alone. No dad to bounce ideas off of; he was still off, not deigning to take Dean's calls. And Sam was incapable of helping. His brother wore an expression ranging from mild bafflement to outright confusion as often as he wore Dean's ratty AC/DC sweatshirt – every minute of every day.

At first having Sam completely dependent upon him was everything Dean could have wished for. Dean lived to take care of Sam. But as his once bright brother drifted from day to day, unwilling or unable to take care of himself, Dean's dreams crashed and burned. Sam was supposed to be his hunting partner and side-by-side they would show the supernatural world who was boss. But his little brother wasn't getting any better and there was no way Dean could contemplate taking him on a hunt. Hell, Dean didn't even trust Sam enough to let him stay home alone while Dean stepped out for groceries, afraid that he'd fall and hurt himself, or even wander off and forget where he lived, or even his name.

Dean had always tried to stay on the sidelines when his dad and brother fought but he was beginning to understand what his dad had gone through. Sam wanted to be independent but what he really needed was his family.

For a moment, when Dean had asked Sam to lunch and then tried to talk him into it, it seemed as though Sam were poised to argue. Dean could see the kid didn't want to leave the house. That would take effort and Sam doled that out sparingly. For a moment, that old sparkle, that Sam who would sometimes take the opposite side of an argument just for the sheer love of debate, seemed ready to make an appearance. But that sparkle quickly faded, replaced by a vacant and hollow stare, and Dean was left watching as Sam caved in to Dean's wishes, again.

Forget lunch. Dean decided it was time to visit the doctor. Sam wasn't getting better and it was up to Dean to take care of him.

Dean loaded his brother up in the Impala, helping him shuffle slowly to the car, folding him carefully into the passenger seat. Sam acquiesced without argument and didn't even ask where they were going.

Sam still didn't say anything when he parked the Impala in the hospital's large lot, and helped Sam out into the hot, humid air. While they slowly made their way inside, Sam leaning heavily on him as he occasionally stumbled and bumped along, his little brother finally broke his silence. "We're eating in the hospital cafeteria?"

The old Sam would have said it sarcastically and teased Dean about eating just about anything, and Dean would have smacked him on the back of the head and called him a smartass. But this Sam, he didn't know what was going on. He didn't understand that Dean was taking him to a doctor and even if Dean bothered to explain, he wasn't sure Sam would get it.

Dean stepped up to the first nurse's station he found and asked to have Dr. Sepeda paged. He didn't know what to do anymore and hoped the good doctor would have some answers. Seeing to his brother wasn't easy but it was his job and Dean was determined to it well.

-0-

Sam didn't understand why they were at the hospital. Dean had said they were going out for lunch and now they were here. Where people in scrubs zoomed here and there and sometimes came too close and made Sam's head ache. He rubbed the back of his head and then his eyes, wishing he could lay down.

A strong hand wrapped around his arm and Sam struggled to lurch along. He tried to keep pace but he kept tripping and Dean turned and scowled at him which made Sam want to sit down and cry. Sam hated feeling weepy. He'd rather be numb. Maybe he could have some more pills.

He tugged on Dean's sleeve, intent on asking for the blue and white pills, and when his brother rounded on him, Sam forgot what he was going to ask. His brother looked disappointed and Sam tried to remember what he'd done wrong – he always did something wrong – but his mind was a blank.

A huge, gaping hole.

Sam couldn't cope anymore, his legs sliding out from under him, his brain sliding, too. His vision grayed out and he gave in to it gratefully.

Sam had gotten used to not getting what he wanted so he was a little surprised when the numbness he craved finally arrived.

-0-

Dean didn't understand what was happening. One moment he was towing Sam along slowly, and the next his brother was grasping at his arm and then fainting. Dean barely had enough warning to pull Sam close and then swing him into his arms. His brother's face was pale where the greasy dark strands of hair didn't obscure it, and the way Sam hung limply in his arms made Dean's heart hammer in his chest.

At least Sam passing out like that got them some attention. Instead of being redirected to the ER, suddenly the doctor could see them. Sam was gently removed from Dean's arms and placed on a gurney and wheeled down the hallway, Dean trailing along behind.

Dr. Sepeda was exactly as Dean remembered him. Short and thin with an open expression on his face. Ready to take on the world. A lot like Sam used to look. Before. But Dean no longer knew if before meant leaving the family for Stanford or getting injured followed by falling prey to the shtriga.

It was hard to see Sam like this and imagine the kid ever going out into the world on his own. At least now the kid would see the sense in staying. He needed Dean's help. And Dean wouldn't begrudge him it. This was his little brother. His Sammy.

The doctor snapped out a bunch of questions and Dean did his best to answer. How was Sam eating? Not very well; a finicky eater at the best of times, the kid barely picked at his food now. How was Sam sleeping? Very well; as often as he could for as long as Dean let him.

The short doctor frowned in response to that answer. "How often does he take the Diazepam and the Tylenol No. 3 with Codeine?"

Dean reached into his pocket and retrieved both bottles, handing them over. He'd remembered to grab them on their way out. He could have sworn Sam eyed them with extra interest but once they'd been tucked away, Sam's attention had scattered. Dean's eyes momentarily strayed to where his brother was stretched out on the gurney, a nurse taking his blood pressure. "I give him one of each, every twelve hours. Just like the instructions say."

Dr. Sepeda rattled a bottle, opened it up and spilled pills into his hand. "Are you sure about that? It looks to me like he's had a pill every six or eight hours, not twelve. I gave you a thirty day supply and you've only got another ten or so days left."

Both Dean's and the doctor's eyes swung toward Sam who was rolling his head on the gurney, blinking sluggishly. "De'n?"

The nurse, brown doe eyes soft with concern, handed a clipboard to the doctor. "Pinpoint pupils, BP is 80/50, shallow breathing."

The doctor's eyes scanned the information in front of him. "Let's hang a bag of normal saline and make sure the kidneys are still functioning. I'm not sure about the flumazenil but let's have it at the ready."

The clipboard was slid into a pocket on the inside of the door and then the doctor walked over to Sam. "It's Dr. Sepeda, Sam. Do you remember me?"

Dazed eyes slid past the doctor and latched on to Dean. "Dean?"

Dean couldn't just stand there ignoring his brother any longer. Moving to the side opposite of the doctor, he grabbed Sam's hand, his thumb rubbing absently at the clammy skin. "Right here, bro. The doc has some questions for you. Do you think you can answer them?"

Pinpoint pupils. Dean could see it from where he stood. Sam's pupils were so constricted, virtually all that could be seen were flecks of brown and green and gold.

Sam's eyes tracked back toward the doctor, face set in grave concentration. The doctor leaned over so that Sam had a better view of him. "Sam, can you tell me if you've taken more medication than your brother has given you?"

Scrunching his face up, Sam appeared to be thinking hard. "Sometimes. It helps me sleep."

The doctor nodded sagely. "How about today, Sam? Do you know how many pills you've had?"

His brother lay there for so long without answering that Dean thought he wasn't going to respond. But then his lips moved silently and Dean realized Sam was counting. "Three times."

"Three times or three pills?" Dean tried to reel in the anger but he couldn't believe how stupid his brother had been. Or how stupid he'd been for not realizing what Sam was doing. But his brother was such a straight shooter who didn't touch drugs or alcohol so it hadn't even occurred to Dean that it might be a problem.

Sam didn't need an older brother, he needed a full time keeper.

Cringing away from Dean, his brother blinked those unnatural eyes slowly. "Times."

Dr. Sepeda patted Sam's arm gently. "Sounds like a total of six pills. Cynthia is going to get an IV going in your arm and then if you're feeling better later, we'll see about letting you go home."

Sam quit trying to hold his tired eyelids up and let them sink down on his pale cheeks. Not being able to see Sam's eyes was like having a lifeline severed and Dean turned to the doctor. Frustration at what Sam had done to his own body warred with deep concern and the concern won out. "Is he going to be okay?"

The doctor made eye contact. "Sam appears to be developing a dependency on the medications so we're going to taper him off of them. I don't think he's done any permanent harm with the excess doses but we'll monitor him here for a while. I think the main question we need to address now is why Sam wants to sleep so badly."

Dean dropped his eyes away from those of the searching doctor.

Sam had seemed pretty lively when Dean had first gotten him home. Wanted to shower and talk on the phone.

He tried to pinpoint when that had changed but was coming up snake eyes. The only thing he knew was that Sam needed him now more than ever.

-0-

_Sam's head pounded with the exertion of movement but no matter how hard he tried to open the door, it wouldn't budge. He was trapped. _

_The air cracked and sizzled with heat, his skin uncomfortably warming. _

_Suddenly Dean and his dad were there. His breathing was harsh in his ears, his voice strangled. "We need to get out!"_

_Both Dean and his dad shook their heads no, slowly. Arms crossed in front of their chests and legs spread at shoulder's width, they formed an implacable wall. He couldn't even see the door anymore. Somehow Sam knew he wasn't getting out._

"_Don't worry, Sammy, we'll take care of you."_

_Head spinning from heat and panic, Sam weaved on his feet. The dizziness intensified and he pitched headlong into the darkness, his breath and will strangled…_

Gasping for breath, Sam bolted upright. It took a moment but his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness of the room. He was at home. He was fine. It was just a nightmare.

He could hear the hum of Dean's voice on the other side of the door but couldn't make out any words.

Instead of feeling comforted by Dean's presence in the other room, Sam found himself on edge. Relaxing his tense jaw, he reminded himself to breathe through the lingering effects of his dream.

Sam's headaches had been a constant companion since Dean had brought him home and his dreams had been intense. Despite the pain and interrupted sleep, his mind was clear. It was the first time in a long time he could say that. And his body was shaping up, too. He could move around, albeit more slowly than before the accident, all on his own.

Now that he was well and truly on the mend, his thoughts were turning to the future.

The turning point had been his last trip to the hospital. Dean had gotten him the help he needed and Dr. Sepeda had been incredibly kind to him. Sam felt lucky that he wasn't being sent to some rehab center or locked in a psych ward. Abusing medications wasn't something he ever thought he'd do but it had been far easier than he could have imagined. The pills had calmed him down, helped him cope. And almost killed him.

When the doctor had sent Dean out of the room and asked him why he was so unhappy, Sam hadn't known how to answer. The patented Winchester reply of 'I'm fine' had been on the tip of his tongue but then the kindly voice had asked him where he'd been going when the bus had flipped over.

Sam had cracked.

Words had tumbled out in a rush and Sam couldn't shut up. Stanford and learning and being out on his own…all taken away from him.

Fortunately Dean hadn't been in the room. He knew his brother wouldn't agree. Sam's place was with the family; his job, the family business.

Sam had never doubted his dad's or brother's love for him, but in many ways he found it smothering.

The remnants of the dream reared its ugly head. _Trapped. Suffocating._

Sam knew what he had to do. He didn't look forward to breaking the news to his brother again. Dean had tracked him down, saved him from the shtriga and taken care of him.

Throwing his feet over the side of the bed, Sam steeled himself for the upcoming conversation. He could only hope that this time the outcome would be different.

-0-

Dean's head pounded with excitement. His dad was coming home in a week. John Winchester had said he was proud of Dean for handling the shtriga and taking care of Sam.

All those years of wondering and worrying about the shtriga and Dean had put it to rest. And earned his dad's trust back.

Soon his dad would be home. They would be a family again. Sure, Sam would resist falling back into line but after what had happened, Dean knew his brother would come around. His little brother had firmly been put in his place, by the stupid shtriga no less. But at least Sam was back where he belonged.

Sam had been subdued since Dean had brought him home from the hospital but that could be caused by pain. Or embarrassment. Dean kept the pills on his person at all times so that his brother couldn't sneak them and he had to admit that he himself was embarrassed that Sammy had been filching pills on his watch. But the kid was finally getting better. That was the important thing.

Sensing he was no longer alone, Dean turned to find the object of his thoughts leaning against the bedroom door frame. Sam's face was in partial shadow so it was hard to read his expression but Dean was bursting with his news and couldn't contain himself any longer. "I just got off the phone with Dad. He'll be home in a week. He said he's thankful you're okay and he's going to help you with your training so that you're back up to speed in no time. Sam…?"

His brother had pushed away from the wall and was now in the full light of the living room lamp. Forget subdued. The kid looked downright nauseous. Swallowing audibly, Sam moved the rest of the way across the room until he touched Dean's arm lightly. His little brother had always been touchy-feely like that. "Dean, I know this is really bad timing but I have to tell you that I'm…"

Dean shook Sam's hand off his arm and shut down. Sam kept speaking, his eyes so soft and earnest. But Dean was no longer listening.

Sam thought he was still going to Stanford.

Sam, who had been gravely injured by a bus accident and then kidnapped by a supernatural witch.

Sam, who had almost downed so many pills that he very nearly needed his stomach pumped or worse.

The same Sam who had been dependent on Dean for everything these last few weeks.

The kid couldn't cut it on his own. He was an accident waiting to happen.

His dad had been right – Sam was self centered and delusional.

All those feelings of abandonment from Sam's first attempt to fly the coop bubbled to the surface and channeling his best John Winchester, Dean laid down the law. "If you walk out that door again, don't you ever come back."

-0-

Sam stepped off the bus and inhaled the damp sea air. He'd finally made it.

His family wasn't talking to him but what had he expected?

Eventually he would have to make peace with his dad's attitude but right now he couldn't even think about it. He balled those feelings up tight and stuck them away. Later.

His brother was another story. Dean had been furious, nostrils flaring, skin draining of color when Sam had told him. A reaction born of deep hurt. So much so that Sam had almost been on the verge of changing his mind, or at least taking more time to make it up.

But then Dean had laid down his edict and Sam had struggled draw to air into his lungs. That smothering sensation from his dream was back full bore and Sam had to get out.

Seagulls screeched in the distance, recalling Sam to the present. Two girls walked by, deeply tanned and surfer girl beautiful. Dean would have appreciated the local sights.

God, he missed his brother. His snarky sense of humor. His lousy taste in music.

Sam hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and looked around to get his bearings. _When in doubt bro, follow the hot babes._

Sending up a quick prayer that his dad and brother would stay safe, Sam forced his legs into action, following the girls walking down the sidewalk.

Dean might not be there in person but his presence was still deeply felt.

The End

A/N: I hope the birthday girl enjoyed this little fic. Thanks again to Floralia, Faye Dartmouth, BlueEyedDemonLiz and Gigetgal9…this story is much better for all of their help. And thank you for reading the story.


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